


The Eldest of Three, The Youngest of Three

by WinterSwallow



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen, fairy tale, fairy tale AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 02:15:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5894212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterSwallow/pseuds/WinterSwallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hero goes in search of salvation and a maiden's kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Eldest of Three, The Youngest of Three

**Disclaimer:**

To say this story is tangentially related to the universe of Thunderbirds is an insult to honest tangents, which will at least take the trouble to touch the curve before shooting off into infinity. This story doesn’t even pay the curve the courtesy of doing that.

If it has any tenuous connection to the Thunderbirds universe, it comes by way of CarryonStarKid’s story [A Son By Any Other Nam](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5635141/chapters/12977176)e, and her fairy tale AU. Just as it says on the tin, A Son… places our heroes in fairy tale land, but has, delightfully become something rich and new and exciting and other, that stands up on its own even away from Five… four… three… two… one.

I say this as a total AU sceptic, who has been thoroughly won over, if you like stories of brave, kind clever people facing incredible odds you should check it out. And given the links you must have clicked to get here, and your taste in TV shows I’m betting that’s just the sort of story you like.

And when you have been thoroughly won over check out the work of some of the other talented writers who have enriched her universe. 

What _my_ story is, is a fairy tale, pure and simple. It’s best enjoyed if you’ve read “A Son By Any Other Name”, but does not demand it. It lurks under the banner of Thunderbirds fanfiction and feels like a total fraud, but if you squint, you might see it’s the story of a kind and brave young man, riding out to protect his kingdom and save his brothers, and that’s a very Thunderbirds thing in deed.

Hope you keep reading.

  * Swallow, Feb 2016



 

 

_When three brothers go questing, the eldest of three will fall prey to a curse, the second brother will end in foolishness and despair. Only the youngest will have his heart’s desire._

An old book and older words. Words from the long ago. 

The prince remembered how his mother would read them to him as she sat in the window of her library. He remembered how she would hum her favourite lullaby as he sat at her feet.

But that was many years ago, before he lost his mother, before her library became a prison, before words became the most dangerous weapons of them all.

_When three brothers go questing, the eldest of three will fall prey to a curse, the second brother will end in foolishness and despair. Only the youngest will have his heart’s desire._

The prince was no youngest son. Five children did his mother bear his father. But he had two elder brothers and their need was great, so questing he must go. 

In the woods, they say, lived a maiden, with eyes as green as a summer day, and hair as black as a raven’s wing. Her kiss could break any curse. 

And so on a clear winter’s morning, the prince asked his squire to bring his swiftest horse. 

“Do not go into the woods, my prince.  Only beasts lurk there.” 

A wise prince would heed his squire’s word, stay in the bright lands of his father, but the third prince was not wise. His brother was wise, but his wisdom could not free him from his tower prison. “Saddle my horse, squire. I must make a journey.”

The squire shook his head. “I beg you, do not go into the woods, my prince. Terrible beasts lurk there.” 

A good prince would grant his squire’s boon and swear not to stray from the path, but the third prince was not good. His brother was good, but his goodness could not unbind him from his curse. “Bring me bread and wine, for I do not know how long I will be away.”

And again the squire shook his head. “The beasts are very terrible. They will eat your heart if they catch you. Do not go into the woods, my prince.”

A kind prince would sooth his squire’s doubts, laugh to quell his fears, but the third prince was not kind. Somewhere, out there, on the great glass sea, his brother was kind, but his kindness could not bring him home. “And a sword of good steel. There may be bandits and thieves.”

For the third time his squire shook his head. “Once more, my prince, I say you this. Do not go into the woods. Only beasts lurk there.”

A valiant prince would feel no dread, would set out for adventure with a true and steady heart, but the third prince was not valiant. His youngest brother of all was valiant, but even his courage would not mend their broken family. “And good strong rope and a light to guide my way.”

His squire bowed. “As you wish, my prince.”

And so the squire saddled the prince’s horse and brought him bread and wine and sword and rope. And only when the prince was mounted upon his swiftest horse and the eastern gate had swung open wide to let in the morning sun, did he say once more, “My prince, please. Take knights and archers and cavalrymen. Take hounds and horses and huntsmen. Bring mercenaries from the south or magicians from the east. Just do not go into that dread place alone.”

But the third prince’s eye was not on the squire, but looked west towards the tower room, where a single light that was not a candle flame burned. Then his eyes turned south to the rose garden, where his eldest brother talked himself into riddles and knots, lest his mildest benediction fall with the weight of a geas.

He turned to face the morning sun. “Guard my brothers well, squire, and watch for my return, with a maid with eyes as green as a summer day, and hair as black as a raven’s wing.” 

Alone, he set out upon his quest. 

The prince rode on for a day and a night, through the forest dark and full of terrors where even at noon the sky is dark as twilight. And as he rode, the birds of the forest sung to him. 

_“Turn back my prince, turn back at once,_  
Fly home to the lands of your father.  
Your eyes will be beetles, your bones will be dust  
Only a fool would go any farther.”

“A fool I must be,” said the prince. “For I will not turn from my quest.”

Sang the birds:

 _“A wise fool then, a wise fool, my prince_  
For a wise man knows when he err,  
And only a wise fool can earn the kiss,  
Of the maid with the midnight hair.”

And so the prince left the path and rode on for a day and night, until he reached a thicket whose thorns were long and sharp as a dragon’s teeth.  As he cut his way through the thicket the beasts of the woods cried out to him.

 _“Turn home, my prince, turn home at once_  
Turn back to the land of the light,  
Your subjects plead for your safe return,  
It is cruel to ignore their plight.”

“Cruel I must be,” said the prince. “For I will not turn from my quest.”

 _“Cruel and kind then, cruel and kind, my prince,_  
Is one who puts his needs behind those of another,  
And only one both cruel and kind may claim the right,  
To the kiss that may save your brother.”

And so the prince cut through the thicket and rode on for a day and a night, until he reached a river whose waters were as black and snarling as the devil’s jaws. As he forded it the fish of the river spoke to him.

 _“Turn back, my prince, turn back at once,_  
The Magician burns your homeland this night,  
The women scream, the towers burn,  
Only a coward would not join this fight.”

“A coward I must be,” said the prince. “For I will not turn from my quest.”

Said the fish:

 _“A brave coward then, a brave coward, my prince,_  
For this forest is not for the craven.  
And only a brave coward may break the curse,  
Of the maid with hair dark as a raven.”

And so the prince forded the river and rode on for a day and a night, until he reached a boneyard, where the bones of those travellers who had come before him lay piled high as any mountain. As he crossed the boneyard the trees whispered to him.

 _“Fly home, my prince, fly home once more,_  
Turn back to the lands of your mother,  
For a good man is needed and a good man thou art.  
To end the curse you must needs slay your brother.”

At these words the third prince stopped and bowed his head. “If to be a good man means to slay my brother, then I will walk the path of the villain. I will not turn from my quest.”

Whispered the trees:

 _“A villain you are then, a villain, my prince,_  
A villain with a heart clear as water,  
For only a pure hearted villain may sever the curse,  
That the Magician has placed on his daughter.”

And the prince might have rode on then, but the song of the trees was not finished. They whispered.

 _“Listen well, my prince, listen well if you can,_  
Heed these words, if you heed none other,  
For should you journey for a thousand years,  
You will never save your brother.”

The prince rode on through forest and thicket across river and through boneyard. He rode until his bones ached, until his head was wary and his throat was dry with thirst, until the forest was so dark that it seem like midnight though it was noon.

At last the prince’s horse grew so weary that it could go no further and the prince stopped to tend the animal that had been so loyal to him. It was then that he saw a fire burning in the clearing and a charcoal burner tending the flame.

The prince called out to him. “Good Sir, share your flame with me, and I will share with you my food and wine.”

The charcoal burner looked up. “’Tis strange days we live in when a prince shares a charcoal burner’s hearth. But come, Highness. The night is cold and these woods are foul. Come warm yourself by my fire.”

And so the prince led his horse to the fire and sat with the charcoal burner and did not know – for how could he know – that the charcoal burner was The Man of Many Faces, that same magician that hated the Prince’s family with all his black heart and had placed such a terrible curse on his family. He did not know – for how could he? – that the Magician had awaited the third prince’s coming for many years, had seen his arrival in his magic mirror. He did not know – for how could he? – of the terrible glee now in The Magician’s shrivelled heart.

So the third prince sat by the charcoal burner’s brazier and shared the last of his bread and wine with his mortal enemy and presently he told him of his quest. “I seek a maid with eyes as green as a summer’s day and hair as black as a raven’s wing. Have you seen her?”

Said the Magician. “I cannot lie to you, prince. The maid you seek waits not far from here, on the crest of the snowy mountain.”

“And is it true that her kiss can break any curse?”

“I cannot lie to you, prince. Even the might of your brother’s curse is nothing to the power of the maiden’s kiss.”

“Then I must go there, at once.”

“I cannot lie to you my prince. No man has stepped on the mountain for many years for it too lies under a curse. Only a man who is wise and yet a fool, brave and yet a craven, kind and yet cruel, a good man and a villain all at once may tread there. He must be the eldest of three and yet the youngest of three. Where can we find such a man who is so many contradictions?”

“Take me to the mountain,” said the third prince, “For I am he.”

And The Magician smiled a secret smile. 

And so the third prince, went alone to the mountain’s peak and what he found there was no castle or tower or enchanted bower but a dank and stinking cave, its entrance crested by thick snows. Beneath his feet yellowed bones crunched and cracked. 

And in the depths of the cave shone a pair of eyes as green as a summer’s day. 

“I seek a maid with hair the colour of a raven’s wing. Are you she? I have come to free her from her curse. I am the youngest of three and the eldest of three.”

Then from the shadows there slunk a she-wolf, with eyes as green as a summer day, fur as black as a raven’s wing and teeth as white as a midwinter snowfall. 

And in a moment the Prince saw how he had been tricked, how The Magician had led him here for his own ends, how he should have heeded the warning of the trees and how he had failed his brothers and he cried out in despair as all hope was lost.

Then the third prince steped forward…

And received the maiden’s kiss.

* * *

The Magician appeared like a twist of smoke in the air. Lying in the snow was a maid with eyes as green as a summer’s day and hair as black as a raven’s wing. 

The Magician placed his cloak tenderly about the maiden’s shoulders. “There, there, daughter. You have been punished enough. See how I have brought you a prince to end your curse.”

For a moment, the maiden’s clouded eyes fell upon a bundle of blood and fur lying in the snow.  Then The Magician closed his cloak around her and she vanished, whisked away to his castle of glass and bone. 

Then the Magician knelt. A wolf with fur as grey as the heart of a storm lay upon the snow. The Magician lay his hand upon the wolf’s pelt, and there he could feel the quickening rage and fear and pain that would awaken the beast within.

“You have freed my daughter from her curse. But your curse will not be so easily broken. Until there are no more stars in the sky. Until the moon no longer lights the sea, until flames freeze and the sun burns ice, a cursed werewolf you will be.”

_When three brothers go questing, the eldest of three will fall prey to a curse, the second brother will end in foolishness and despair. Only the youngest will have his heart’s desire._

Old words and true in their way, and Magicians know the power of old words. 

The Magician stroked the beast’s fur and felt muscle and sinew knot and unknot beneath his fingers. Then he bent and whispered in the wolf’s ear and his voice was as smooth as a serpent’s coils. “Now you have what you always wished for, you who have tasted my daughter’s kiss. You are freed from his curse. For, in this form, his words will have no power to bind you, not if he tell you to take your own life, not if he beg you not to tear out his throat.”

And with a laugh, The Magician vanished.

* * *

Early one morn, as the dawn spread its golden fingers across the kingdom, a boy galloped his horse through the fields. The boy was fleet of foot, sure, swift, fearless. He had left his guard far behind as he chased the sun. 

He reached the crest of the hill and steadied his pony. As the winter sunlight woke his father’s land, the boy saw a figure in the shadow of the forest. A young man leading a lame horse towards home.

The boy turned his horse and galloped towards the palace.

The squire was at work at his forge when the boy found him. He rushed inside and called, “Look who stands at the edge of the woods. It is my brother, returned. We must go at once to meet him.”

But the squire shook his head. His eyes were cast down upon his work and his hammer rang on chains forged of thunder metal.

“Do not go into the woods, my prince. Only beasts lurk there.”


End file.
